


Valjean: Bide the Stubborn Throes

by rainbowodyssey



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, deathbed!snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:26:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowodyssey/pseuds/rainbowodyssey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"ValjeanFantine moirallegiance?"  Ask, kinkmeme, and you shall receive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valjean: Bide the Stubborn Throes

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is inaccurate Brick-wise. I'm a child of the musical and haven't plowed through the novel yet. Set it a little before Fantine dies, so she's still sick but not necessarily moments from death. Its also before Valjean reveals his identity. Enjoy!

Her trembling was like a poker, sickeningly hot in Valjean's stomach. It made him sweat, made him burn with an anger he hadn't felt since his old life, since Toulon. With each cough, he wished to burst onto the streets, hunting down the pimp who trafficked her, the men who used her body, Bamatabois who taunted her, the wastrel father of her child. He would blot them from the Earth if he could, he would ruin any who had hurt Fantine. He chafed to throw away every promise of mercy or forgiveness, cast them away and blaze through France like a Fury. He would, yet again, begin anew.

And yet, the trembling was a bridle, a harness, leaving him chomping at the bit because he knew that to leave Fantine now would be cruel. Just as fever and chills coursed through her body -- if one could even call it that, so wasted she had become -- so too was Valjean pitched between extremes. One moment his heart was steeped in vengeance, his brow dark and wild. The next, Fantine reached a hand, with what seemed to be the whole of her strength, placing it on his own and muttering feeble thanks for his charity, for his protection. The chill of her touch cooled his own frenzy, pacified his racing mind, if only for a moment.

"You are," Fantine would murmur, "my protector, Monsieur. The lee behind which I shelter."

"And you, Fantine," Valjean would murmur back, "my comfort. My purpose, my mission from God."

They sustained each other such, consoling and reaffirming, until Fantine's breath was exhausted, until sleep shut her eyes, until, at last, she kneeled to death.


End file.
